


like that, she asked

by lady__sansa_stark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 00:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12805326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady__sansa_stark/pseuds/lady__sansa_stark
Summary: "Like that?" she asked.Sansa stared up from where her hand was working slow, uncertain strokes. He'd shown her before - had crept into her room last week, a whisperedShhhhhhhwhen Sansa startled at the weight of him dipping the bed. He had shown her with his own hand, with hers. Had shown her with the way his lips crushed against hers. The moans he let her swallow.He had shown hersomuch - and gods how much Sansa liked learning.





	like that, she asked

**Author's Note:**

> For the 10 people (pretty much) that asked for a detailed exploration on a particular scene in my fic, "[like that, he taunted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12764154)" Note: It’s not necessary to read that prior to this.
> 
> [I hope this meets your expectations. But I mean, all y’all are nasty, so….]

              “Like that?” she asked.

              Sansa stared up from where her hand was working slow, uncertain strokes. He’d shown her before - had crept into her room last week, a whispered  _ Shhhhhhh _ when Sansa startled at the weight of him dipping the bed. He had shown her with his own hand, with hers. Had shown her with the way his lips crushed against hers. The moans he let her swallow.

              He had shown her  _ so _ much - and gods how much Sansa liked learning.

              Beneath her palm, beneath the coarse fabric of his jeans, Sansa could feel him react to her touches. If she focused hard enough, she could hear his heartbeat hammering, a mirror of her own. Meanwhile, her uncle (her  _ uncle _ , good gods. Her mind screaming:  _ stop before you go any further, this is so wrong, you’ve already crossed too many boundaries _ ) watched.  _ Smiled _ as her gaze met his.

              “Just like that, sweetling.” For emphasis, Petyr thrust his hips against her palm. “You’re a quick learner.”

              She turned away as she felt the blush rise to her cheeks.  _ He’s complimenting me for touching him _ , she thought. The blatant  _ wrongness _ of it all brought more color to her skin. And yet: she didn’t stop her hand. Not even when Petyr’s breathing grew heavier, louder than whatever movie they’d pretended to watch. Not even when she could  _ feel _ him restraining himself. Saw it in the way he clenched the arm of the sofa.

              “How about a  _ new _ lesson, hm?” he asked, a certain playful lilt coloring his words. Wasn’t that how he dragged her down down down into this in the beginning? A pretense of  _ learning _ . A pretense that he was doing this - teaching her things a girl her age ought to know - for her own good. “A new lesson, one that I’m sure you’ll be able to pick up even better…”

              Sansa’s eyes widened.  _ Fucking _ , she thought.  _ He’s going to teach me how to _ -

              “Oh, no, not quite that, Sansa.” Petyr laughed. It was hardly a smile, more like a devilish grin, crooked towards one side. Lifted his hand to caress the side of her cheek (and Sansa knew she shouldn’t lean into that, either, but she did. His touch was...something.  _ Comforting _ ? Yes - but still with the underlying sense that it shouldn’t be, not for the reason that it sent a spark through her body coalescing between her legs). But the fact that he just  _ knew _ where her mind went…“Though, if you’re willing, I wouldn’t mind showing you  _ that _ lesson, in time. How to please yourself with a man…” His gaze flicked to the join of her legs, and Sansa felt suddenly naked.

              They began this afternoon sitting side by side, Sansa curled with a blanket and a bowl of popcorn, flicking through movies absentmindedly. Too aware of the inches that separated their legs. Too aware that both of them were slowly,  _ sloooooowly _ , creeping towards each other, until their thighs pressed against each other. 

              Until Sansa found the courage ( _ reckless and foolish courage _ ) to find a better seat on his lap.

              Petyr didn’t mind at all.

              Kissing her uncle, touching him, letting him touch her and show her the different ways her body could find release. There was a blurry line between all of  _ that _ , and blatant fucking. There  _ had _ to be, right? There  _ had _ to be a limit - a  _ do no cross _ line - between whatever this was between a niece and her uncle. Closer they stepped towards it each day. Dancing around it, atop it. But so far, never crossing it.

              But there were already an infinite other lines crossed, just as terrible.

              Sansa found some more of that reckless and foolish courage (and maybe, just a bit of courage from his compliment) to work the button and zip free of his jeans. A pity, Sansa did love the way the jeans sat on him, how they hugged his ass. But Sansa did love the way they sat discarded on the floor of her bedroom more.

              She couldn’t do that  _ here _ , not with Lysa upstairs taking care of Robert. If Sansa really focused beyond the thrumming of her heart, of Petyr’s heart, of whatever mindless nonsense was happening on the movie behind her - she could hear the quiet coughs of her cousin. Too bad Sansa was focused on pulling out her uncle’s cock.

              “What would you like to teach me today?” she asked, though she was sure she knew already. If last night was any indicator, well… Her cunt was sorely missing the feel of his tongue. Sansa could still taste the trace of her need when Petyr kissed her goodnight.

              How  _ kind  _ of her uncle.

              Petyr dragged his gaze back up from where she was touching him. Not at all like the strokes he liked - he had shown her that, too, the rhythm, the pressure. Much rougher than she thought ( _ The rougher the better _ , he said). “I’m sure you can guess, sweetling…”

              She did, and she wasn’t sure if she should be  _ ashamed _ that she knew. Where had that Sansa gone who knew nothing of pleasure - hers or his or anyone’s? Where had that Sansa gone that would have balked at the idea of doing any of this - even so much as a kiss - with her uncle? 

              Certainly a long, long, long ways away from  _ this _ Sansa.  _ This _ Sansa, with her legs straddling Petyr’s. With her hand on the hard evidence of his desire (for her). With her mouth lowering down to kiss the tip of his cock.

              “ _ Fuck… _ ” 

              Sansa smiled against him.  _ Gods _ , there was something about the way her touch undid him that made Sansa braver. The endless barrage of  _ what the fuck are you doing _ thoughts didn’t hit until after she licked the head - an uncertain salty taste, one that she knew she would get used to. Especially with the way Petyr hissed at the contact. 

              She stared up at him, her lips slowly trailing down the side of his length, asking silently  _ Like this? _

              “Just like that,” Petyr repeated in a breathy gasp. He moved to tangle his hands in her hair, but decided at the last moment to rest on her shoulders instead.

              An image flashed in her mind, one that would have given old Sansa a million heart attacks (if everything else didn’t already kill her). An image of Petyr’s hands tangled in her hair, her mouth around his cock, and him thrusting into her with abandon. When Sansa had properly  _ learned _ how to do this, would he? Take her and use her. She shuddered at the thought, but...she couldn’t deny a separate shudder between her legs. 

              Most of the time, Petyr was loving, gentle,  _ careful _ . Touches with mouth and fingers featherlight. Barely a ghost upon her skin. 

              And there was one time - last night, with Lysa taking Robert to hospital, more worried about her son than the wandering gaze of her husband (of which she didn’t know, and wouldn’t) - there was one time Petyr  _ wasn’t _ gentle. When the house was empty of people who shouldn’t know. When he pinned Sansa down to her bed and devoured her breasts as his free hand worked her cunt. The hardness of his cock rubbing against her thigh - and the fact that he was so  _ lost _ in her made Sansa cry out. Sansa had to hold onto his hair, his shoulders, to ground herself. Work her hips against his movements, to the point all she could think was  _ more more more _ . Her orgasm had been  _ fucking amazing _ . 

              Well, her  _ first _ one. Petyr promised her another with his tongue, and  _ gods _ that was just as good. 

              She prayed to the gods that that wouldn’t be the only time he took control. Especially if the pain of it ended with her momentarily forgetting who she was, and with whom.

              Sansa stroked him, loving the way his body reacted to her touch. A question on her tongue -  _ After you’ve properly taught me this, could you teach me something else _ \- in the shape of that wicked image. She opened her mouth-

              “Petyr!”

              Sansa felt every line of her veins run frozen. 

              Petyr placed his hand atop her head, preventing her from moving. Preventing her from saving herself from such an  _ uncompromising _ position.  _ What are you doing _ , she wanted to yell. Her voice - even her hands wrapped around his length - were frozen. In fear.

_ We’ve been caught _ .

              Because there was only one door to the room, and the heavy weight of steps beyond it said just as much: caught. 

              Caught caught caught

              Caught with her uncle’s cock in her hand and the taste of it on her lips.

              Only: the fear that Sansa felt coursing through her, overriding the need that had been a demanding ache - none of that was present on Petyr’s face. No, there was a darkness coating his gaze. And a crooked smile plastered on his mouth

              Sansa could only guess the uncouth (and unsafe) thing Petyr had in store. “But-!”

_ But what if she sees us _ .

              “ _ Trust me _ , sweetling,” was all he said. That, and gave her a wink. Petyr quickly lifted Sansa to lay perpendicular to her, balled up in the seam of the sofa. He reached over to the loveseat beside the sofa, flapping out the blanket Sansa had discarded when she straddled him, before laying it across her curled body. Colored shadows covered her, and before the darkness swallowed her completely, Petyr peeked in to say, “Don’t stop, sweetling.”

              The door to the living room opened just then, the lights flicking on. “Peeeeeeeetyr,” her aunt called, in a sing-song slur of too much alcohol. Wasn’t she supposed to be taking care of Robert, not getting drunk at two in the afternoon?

              Except Sansa couldn’t work through any logic, not when her heart was hammering and her brain was whispering  _ I told you sooooo _ . 

              Petyr nudged his cock against her mouth, a silent repetition of  _ Don’t stop _ . Every part of Sansa advised against it. There was still time, wasn’t there, to save themselves? 

              But - like the well-mannered girl her mother taught her to be, like the dutiful niece she was pretending to be - she didn’t.

              “How’s Robert? Better?” Petyr asked.

              Sansa felt the back of the sofa dip beneath her aunt’s weight. “Oh, sweet little Robin is -  _ hic _ \- fine. Just a bit of cold. He’s not dying!” The way she spoke (though drunk) made it sound like she was celebrating her son’s not-death. From the winter flu? Granted, Robert was prone to sickness, but still.

              But still, those lilting words ( _ don’t stop sweetling _ ) urged her to continue her lesson. Explored with her fingers and mouth in the almost-black. Against the darkness, she could picture Petyr’s gaze: watching her, assessing her as she worked over him. Sansa eased her mouth over the head. Lapped the underside with her tongue as she pulled him in, slowly. As she felt his muscles strain against the urge to thrust against her, inside her.

              “That’s good,” Petyr replied. To Lysa, or to Sansa, she didn’t know.

              From above, she heard her aunt squeal something horrific. “Ohhhhhh, isn’t this that one movie!? With um, oh what’s his name? Petyr, you know him, right, the cute guy from the Riverlands?”

              A sound of a kiss on cheek. Sansa felt a twinge of  _ jealousy _ . “Oh, there’s plenty of those, but is he cuter than me?”

              Sansa gagged at the sound of her aunt swooning. And gagged when Petyr used Lysa’s distraction to thrust a few short motions into Sansa’s mouth. Petyr coughed to cover the sound, but she could imagine the way the corner of his mouth itched up.

_ You bastard _ , she thought. Flashes of memories flooded her mind just then. All of the stolen touches during dinners ( _ If you make any noise, sweetling, your whole family will know what a naughty girl you are _ ). All of the times he snuck into her room on silent feet for her  _ lessons _ ( _ If you cry out, sweetling, I won’t let you come, so you best be quiet _ ). The first kiss - her first kiss - stolen against crisp autumn air with the taste of mint on her lips (She asked:  _ What are you doing? _ To which he blinked once, slowly, as if in a trance:  _ Kissing a snow maid _ ).

              So Sansa didn’t stop. Moving up and down the length of him, running her teeth lightly over his skin. Pulling him in as deeply as she was willing to go and as subtly as she could. As subtly with the blanket above her and a psychotic aunt who would be more than miffed at the discovery of her niece sucking on her husband) pulled Petyr’s cock further into her mouth. 

              “ _ Shi _ -” Petyr began, trying as subtly to turn it into a cough. Sansa felt the muscles in his hips tense, trying so hard not to let loose into his desires. She wondered how white his knuckles were. “Sorry, darling, I might be getting the flu too.”

_ Good, _ she thought, pulling her head back enough to gasp for air.  _ How do you like it when someone’s teasing you _ . She might not have known  _ how _ exactly to tease, but even her innocence was working to rile Petyr up. Sansa only wished she could have seen what she was doing to him. But damn if that  _ control  _ didn’t make her drunk. But damn if that control didn’t make her own need hotter, wetter. It was as much a struggle not to tease herself between her legs, no matter how much the ache  _ demanded _ it.

              “Petyr?”

              He must’ve snapped his attention away from his cock (and not for the first time). “Yes, Sansa was watching it, and I decided to keep her company. She went to the -  _ ah _ \- bathroom, I think.”

              Sansa paused with her lips around his length. That  _ gasp _ \- gods it made her wetter than it had any right to. 

              But she had to remember (and it had been difficult, pulling logic and reasoning back into the front of her desire) that self-preservation was important. After all, they wouldn’t be able to have more  _ lessons _ if they were both found dead by Lysa’s hand. Petyr seemed to finally realize that, too. “Can you be a darling and see if she’s alright? It’s been some time she’s been in there, and I wouldn’t want her to be sick, either.”

              “Okayyyy, but promise  _ me _ we’ll have a movie night tonight? Maybe we can finally watch that second Grey movie…” She must have winked, or attempted something  _ sexy _ , becauses Sansa recoiled as much as she felt Petyr did.

              Still, Lysa must have gotten into pina coladas today and not the vodka - she was loath to keep Sansa around as a ward, but fruity drinks made the woman more open to the idea of someone sharing Robert’s and Petyr’s attention. Oh, if she only knew... Lysa was likely more afraid for Sweetrobin, afraid that Sansa would  _ infect _ him with some new strain of flu. That, and she was drunk on the idea of doing  _ this _ with Petyr. A pity Sansa got there first.

              Lysa’s footsteps were light - was she  _ skipping _ ? At the thought of having a romantic date night with her husband? Sansa tried not to laugh. So did Petyr.

              He threw the blanket off her, a rush of cold air hitting her face. And there it was - that crooked, wicked smile. Along with blackness that covered where mossy-green eyes used to be. “You brat.”

              Sansa gave her best smile, which admittedly was hard with her uncle’s cock well in her mouth. 

              He let his fingers trail along the curve of her jaw, thumb brushing the join of her bottom lip and his hardness. “Though word of warning, sweetling, be careful not to bite.”

              She pulled herself free, wiping away spittle from the corners of her mouth. Adjusted what she imagined to be a mess of hair into a new ponytail. “But I thought you  _ liked _ biting…”

              Petyr’s eyes fell to her neck, her breasts, where indeed there were crescent indents from their lesson last night. Sansa watched his tongue lick his lips. Remembered how it felt licking between her own lips. A jolt shot through her, igniting a reckless thought of  _ Fuck it _ .

              But logic finally returned with that rush of cold air. Along with that fear of being caught. The fact that they  _ hadn’t  _ meant they shouldn’t push their luck. Not now, at least. “Tonight, then?”

              Petyr took his time finding her eyes. Rearranged himself back into his jeans as he answered with a knowing smile, “Tonight.”

              Sansa waved “Hello” to her aunt as she left, the taste of her uncle’s need still on her tongue.

 


End file.
